


Homeward Bound

by merelypassingtime



Series: Meretricious Melodies [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelypassingtime/pseuds/merelypassingtime
Summary: After his years shutting down Moriarty's web Sherlock comes home to a bit of a surprise.





	Homeward Bound

Sherlock paused outside the somber black door to 221b, gathering his thoughts. In the years he had been away in every place he had been and whatever he had been forced to do he had always kept the key to this door on him. A promise and a reminder to himself that he would come back, that he would resume his life. 

Now with Moran finally dead and his return imminent nothing was so simple. Three years he had been gone, too much could change in three years. He was not the same man who had left all that time ago and suddenly as he hovered on the steps to his one time home it seemed the height of stupidity for him to have assumed that his life, that his friends and family, that John, would just be here waiting for him to shrug them back on like he had shrugged on his Belstaff coat.

He took a deep breath and flipped up the collars of his coat, bracing himself to face whatever future he could salvage from his 'death.' He turned the key in the lock.

Mrs Hudson's flat was dark and silent and he could only be thankful. As much as he loved Mrs Hudson it was a relief to have that reunion postponed until after he saw John and got a better idea of where he stood. He set his feet to the achingly familiar seventeen steps that lead up to that confrontation. 

He stopped again at the closed door to flat, puzzled. In all the time they had lived here together he and John had rarely closed this door and he wondered when John had changed the habit, or if he had. The instincts that had helped keep him alive screamed at him that something was not right. Still the knob turned readily in his hand and he pushed the door open into a pitch black flat. Hesitatingly he took a step forward into the dark, all his sense on alert.

Still he was not prepared for the blinding brightness when the light was flicked on or for the cacophony of a dozen voices shouting, “Surprise!”

He crouched low, reaching for the knife strapped to his ankle before he registered the gallery of well-known faces smiling at him as handfuls of confetti rained down around him, settling on his shoulders and in his hair. He blinked, utterly nonplussed.

Mrs Hudson rushed over to him, pulling him up with surprising strength and into a tight hug, “Oh Sherlock!” she exclaimed.

Sherlock, standing unresisting in her arms looked around the room. Lestrade, standing by the couch with one arm wrapped loosely around Mycroft's waist, tipped the glass he held in the other hand at him while Mycroft tried to look superior. Donovan scowled without any real malice at him from next to the window. Beside her a now bearded and rather crazy looking Anderson smiled at him in a worrying fashion. Molly waved enthusiastically enough for both herself and for the tall, bemused stranger in the nice coat she was with. Mike just smiled seraphically at him from where he and a woman Sherlock assumed to be his wife stood in front of the fire. He found himself nodding at the man before the sound of footsteps coming out of the kitchen had him whipping his head to the left searching for the most important face and the only one he had yet to see.

John walked towards them carrying two glasses of champagne . “Mrs Hudson,” he said in mock reproach, “You'd best let him go before you choke the life out of him for real.”

Mrs Hudson released him with a suspiciously wet chuckle, “But I am just so happy! It has been so long.”

“Yeah, far too long.” John said, handing Sherlock a glass of champagne.

Sherlock, more than half lost in those beautiful darkest blue eyes, managed to fumble out. “But how...?”

John's smile graduated into a full blown grin, “Oh, it was easy. Mycroft texted me earlier today and said he had you on CCTV back in the city. I figured you'd be showing up tonight so I invited everyone over. We've all been waiting ages for you to get here. I should have known you'd need all that time to get all spiffed up.” John tugged at the lapel of Sherlock's Belstaff teasingly.

“No, I mean, well yes, how you knew I'd be here tonight is interesting.” Sherlock felt his cheeks heating at his uncharacteristic rambling, “But what I really meant was how did you all know I was alive?”

John's grin softened and gained a tinge of sorrow. “Oh well, once the initial shock of it passed it was sort of obvious to everyone that you'd never let Moriarty win like that let alone kill yourself. We all kind of came to the same conclusion at different times, except of course Molly who always knew.” He pretended to glare over his shoulder at the woman in question before looking back to Sherlock. “Once we all got around to admitting to one another that we never thought you where dead we just started waiting for you to get back. Sure took your sweet time, didn't you?”

“John, I am sorry. I am. I never meant...”

But John cut him off by moving in for a hug. It was a bit awkward as both men struggled not to spill their champagne but it was also heartfelt. John whispered into his shoulder, “It is okay Sherlock. It is all fine. We are just so glad you came home to us.”

Sherlock squeezed John tightly to him, blinking his suddenly wet eyes at the banner hanging between the two windows of his home. It simply read, “Welcome Back Sherlock!”


End file.
